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Chapter 7
Three days later.
On the desks of Agnes and Calliope, piles of marriage proposals had accumulated.
So many had come flooding in that even Harold and Sylvia had to be recruited to help sort through the candidates.
Sylvia frowned as she looked through the photos attached to the proposals.
“Why are there so many shameless men in the world?”
It wasn’t the kind of comment a commoner should say to nobles, but no one pointed it out.
She crumpled a photo of the third son of some count, whose hair was half gone.
“If you’re ugly, at least don’t be stupid. And if you’re stupid, you should at least have some decency!”
As Agnes carried stacks of rejected documents from the office floor to the fireplace, she replied,
“It’s only natural, Miss Sylvia.”
She picked up one sheet and waved it in the air. A photo of a man who looked twice Calliope’s age was attached to it.
“When people are blinded by greed, they stop seeing what’s in front of them.”
Calliope nodded.
There was no need to look far. Wasn’t Gilbert Roman a perfect example?
Sylvia still looked displeased and muttered under her breath, and Agnes tried to console her.
“Even if we filter them out, it’s better to have a wide variety of candidates. After all, the more options we have, the better.”
“Most of those candidates are utterly useless, though.”
“Are they food? Why are you talking about nutritional value?”
“It’s just a figure of speech.”
Harold, who had been quietly focused on the work, added his comment.
“This has been a moment of realization for me—there are so many people in dire need of self-awareness.”
Another proposal slipped from Harold’s hand into the reject pile. This one hadn’t even been admitted to the Academy, let alone graduated.
“Honestly, seeing these unqualified men dare to vie for the Countess’s side makes me want to kick them hard—right in the kneecaps.”
“Where exactly, Miss Agnes?” Sylvia asked, eyes twinkling.
Agnes winked with a sly smile. “Let’s leave that to the imagination, Miss Sylvia.”
While the three of them expressed their frustration in their own ways, Calliope remained calm, as if none of it mattered.
“The whole reason I released that article was to cover up my uncle’s antics. Now that it served its purpose, it’s done its job.”
As Calliope had calculated, the article created an enormous stir.
It proved that she had extremely high standards.
Of course, public opinion agreed—if it was that Calliope Verdi, it made perfect sense.
Agnes, visibly encouraged, said,
“Thanks to you, Countess, we’re experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime honor. This deserves to be shared far and wide. What do you say about publishing another article?”
“Great idea. I doubt anyone in the empire’s history has received as many marriage proposals as you have. I feel like I’ve seen every engagement letter design the empire has to offer.”
Harold, more talkative than usual, chimed in quickly.
At this rate, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that every unmarried nobleman in the empire had sent a proposal to Calliope.
“But most of them don’t even meet the minimum criteria.”
Sylvia sighed and handed Harold the documents she was holding.
He checked the photo, then silently tossed it into the trash.
Calliope responded indifferently.
“We knew this might happen, right? Since the straightforward method didn’t work, we’ll have to be flexible now.”
At that moment, Agnes’s ears perked up.
“Flexible, you say?”
“The fifth condition is a lost cause anyway, so just make sure they meet the rest, more or less.”
Calliope had a very objective sense of beauty. She was well aware of her own exceptional looks.
Fifth condition: A man whose looks don’t pale in comparison to Calliope’s.
From the start, Calliope had known this condition was nearly impossible to meet.
“Looks are subjective, really. If I say he looks like the most handsome man in the world to me, who’s going to argue?”
‘Is that… true?’
Three pairs of round eyes glanced at each other.
“The fourth condition too. As long as he meets the height requirement, include him as a candidate. Muscles can be built later.”
It was a rather reasonable suggestion.
Agnes tapped her chin thoughtfully.
Realistically, there was no easier way than this.
“If we go by what you say, Countess, our pool of options will grow considerably…”
Would that be possible? She’d have to lower her standards quite a bit.
Agnes narrowed her eyes and looked at Calliope.
“You’re really saying you can go through with this?”
“That too, but…”
Agnes, unusually, trailed off. Sylvia saw right through her.
“You don’t like the idea either, do you, Miss Agnes?”
“Let’s be honest, right?”
Sylvia gave her a cue, and Agnes eagerly poured out her true feelings.
“This isn’t just anyone! We’re talking about the husband of Calliope Verdi! Noble, competent, beautiful—our flawless lady deserves nothing less. How could a useless man possibly be by her side? That’s absurd!”
“Calling them useless is a bit extreme, Agnes.”
Calliope tried to calm her, but Agnes stood firm in her beliefs.
“Ugly men are useless!”
“Hmm…”
Her belief was so strong, no one could bring themselves to argue.
A brief silence settled over the office.
Sylvia broke it first.
“A man with average looks or better should be okay, don’t you think?”
“‘Barely’ okay,” Agnes clarified firmly, then sighed and said to Calliope,
“At minimum, he needs to be above average. That’s the least you can accept. Your eyesight is too precious to waste.”
“You’re not wrong. Alright, we’ll go with that.”
At the time, Calliope had no idea.
The real problem wasn’t her.
It was her grandfather, the Marquess of Verdi, and his standards.
* * *
Calliope flopped onto the sofa and spoke.
“Another dud.”
“Again?”
Agnes held her head in her hands.
Unable to speak for a long time, she finally jumped up from her seat.
“Does the Marquess of Verdi even realize how impossibly high his standards are?”
“Not at all. When it comes to the lady’s affairs, the Count is the worst doting grandfather.”
Sylvia spoke like she expected this all along. Agnes pressed her forehead. It was burning hot, even in the cool air.
Rejected. Rejected. All of them—rejected.
No matter which candidate’s file they brought forward, it was no use.
It was frustrating enough to make her explode, but Agnes took a deep breath to calm herself.
“Haa… there’s no helping it. What’s the point of regretting a hand that’s already been dealt?”
She murmured, sounding deflated, then pulled out a pen with renewed determination.
“By the way, what was the problem with the latest candidate? The Marquess gave a reason, right?”
Agnes opened her notebook. It was already filled with reasons for Archibald’s rejections—excuses disguised as justifications for tossing out potential suitors.
Couldn’t take a hint, too flighty, lacked awareness, full of bravado, jiggled his legs, chewed too loudly, and so on.
Among them, “Nose hair sticking out” had three stars next to it.
“Alright. I’m mentally prepared to accept whatever ridiculous reason comes next. Please, tell me.”
Agnes asked solemnly, and Calliope rubbed her brow with an awkward expression.
“This time… it was our fault. Turns out, we picked an absolute bomb.”
“What? That can’t be. We vetted him several times.”
“The paperwork looked perfect. But they hid it really well.”
Calliope sighed and leaned back into the sofa. Sylvia quickly came over and started massaging her stiff shoulders.
Feeling the tension ease, Calliope spoke again.
“He has an illegitimate child, apparently.”
